


A Matter of Perspective

by AwkwardSquiid



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Author doesn't know what they're doing, Canon-Typical Violence, Just villains in general I guess, More angst, More angst than strictly necessary, Race To The Edge, Race to The Edge Spoilers, Spoilers, This guy has bad luck, Trauma, Villain shenanigans, and slightly beyond that, because I am trash for pain, save him please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardSquiid/pseuds/AwkwardSquiid
Summary: Most stories take place in the eyes of our heroes and heroines. That is where true stories are born- within the heroes of the tale, those who win the day.But when things change, when we have a shift of perspective...then what happens?Following the decidedly melancholy life of Viggo Grimborn, we're left to uncover what truly goes on through the eyes of the mastermind.





	1. Virtues of the Wicked: Short 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand it's a-me, Squiid, with a complete trash set of some snazzy shorts about our favorite Viggo Grimborn. Lots of this is just a perspective swap, looking at things through the eyes of Viggo (and possibly Krogan). Plenty of it is also theories, or assumptions on things that happened that we don't see in the show/don't have much detail. Ignore my inaccuracies, for most of this was written at 2 AM when I had nothing else to write.  
> Spoilers for Race to the Edge Season 5, naturally.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viggo finds himself without much more than just a tribe after Krogan executes his coup to take over the Hunters. His secret weapon, an undercover “trader” by the name of Johann, has been bought off by the ruthless Drago Bludvist, Krogan’s veiled leader. Viggo finds himself now on the sidelines as the two villains plot to achieve their ultimate goal.  
> But a visit from the trader in question may prove more beneficial to the ex-chief than not.

 

Night had set on the Dragon Hunter base; a place Viggo Grimborn was finding himself more and more as his days with Krogan ticked by. It seemed like months since Drago’s lieutenant had found him within a tavern, requesting his assistance. No questions had been asked about why Viggo was there or how he had come to be there, or even come to be alive, which was really all for the better.

However, the Dragon Hunter base had a visitor that Viggo had not seen in over a year now- his secret weapon, the one Krogan had also skillfully lifted from him, along with everything else. Johann. 

Viggo watched with an expressionless face as the trader pushed his way into the tent and gave Viggo a polite nod, a parcel tucked under one arm. Krogan, who sat across from Viggo, also looked up at Johann. “Ah, trader,” Krogan said, smoothly. “Lovely that you could drop by.”

“I don’t have time for pleasantries,” the trader said, a bit brusquely, giving Krogan an arch look. “But there are developments that you must be informed of.”

Krogan leaned forward in his chair in anticipation, but Viggo only gave the trader a reposeful smile. “Well, don’t update us on your feet and hustled-looking,” the ex-chief said, setting down a cup of water in front of the final chair around the table. Krogan rolled his eyes, but Johann sat down.

“Our time grows short. With the... _training program_ you have designed-” Johann paused to give Viggo a brief look, that left the Hunter puzzling over what it meant, “-we are now down to the final step in our plan. All that remains is the lense.”

Viggo opened his mouth to speak, but Krogan beat him to it. “Due to the sensitive nature of this topic, Johann, don’t you think this should be discussed-”

“Krogan,” Johann prompted, glowering at him, “I did mention _pleasantries_ , didn’t I?”

The dark-skinned man scoffed, but gestured for Johann to go on. Viggo shot the trader a glance of satisfaction, but he pretended not to notice. “We need to act, and we need to act now. Heather of the Berserkers is looking for her father, and if I can exploit this, I will have her in a position she may not quickly escape from.”

 _Heather._ The image of a beautiful dark-haired woman flashed through Viggo’s brain. She had been smart, and light on her feet. Even so, if she believed Johann to be the doddering trader that he had spent so long creating around himself, it would be of no consequence. Still, a twinge of admiration for her remained after their encounter.

“Then _do it_ ,” Krogan said, bringing his fist down on the table and jolting Viggo out of his thoughts, his deep voice booming. Johann remained unaffected, his face nonchalant.

“Yes, yes, of course I will.” The older man waved his hand in the air. “After all, it’s what I’m paid to do. And once I get my hands on the...but, nevermind. We have much preparation to do, the three of us.”

Krogan shifted in his seat as Johann took a sip of his drink. Finally, the inevitable happened and Krogan rose to his feet. “I’m going to go prepare,” he said, his voice low. Uneasy, for some reason; Viggo heard that from a mile away. He trudged out the door, and Viggo turned his good eye on Johann, expecting him to follow.

But the trader simply took another sip and eyed the man across from him. Viggo could practically feel those gray eyes studying him- he watched them wince as they went along his scar. The gruesome, blistering red burn that spiraled around his face like a mark of shame.

“You know, Master Grimborn, I believe I have something for you.”

Viggo’s eyebrows raised as Johann reached down and picked up the parcel he had spotted earlier. Johann set it on the table and slowly slid it over to the ex-Chief. “Took me a while to recover it, but there you are.”

Viggo stared at the parcel. It was wrapped in simple brown paper and was square, but long, longer than a man’s arm. Something about it was odd, but he was drawn to it nonetheless. He reached out, tentatively, looking at Johann.

“Go on,” the trader urged.

Viggo slowly took the parcel and opened it. Part of him knew what it was already, but it didn’t change the feeling of nostalgia as the jeweled hilt slid out of the case and into his hand. He watched as the sword appeared in the half-light of the tent, whole and undamaged. It hadn’t been here when he had returned to find it- he could only assume Ryker had taken it after their battle.

Viggo looked from the sword, to Johann, who remained emotionless. He let the suspicion he was feeling spill over into his facial expression, but Johann stayed unflinching. “I’ve been told that’s an old friend of yours,” he said, quite calmly.

“Indeed.” Viggo traced the design on the hilt, his hands grazing over the rubies. “It was forged by my grandfather’s grandfather. Passed down from generation to generation. It was given to- to every new chief on the night of their succession to power.”

“So I’ve heard,” Johann said. “I did some _special research_ on that sword. And I figured, well, perhaps you might want it back. As a token of goodwill, hm?”

“I’ve been taught not to trust ‘tokens of goodwill’,” Viggo said, with a slight smile. But he reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword. The familiar coolness of the sword hilt touched his hand, but this time, something was different. Painful, rough, not like the grasp had once been.

Viggo winced as he remembered. His burned palm. Scorched by the magma on Dragon’s Edge, he took his hand off the sword and stared down at it. Blistered and burned, enough to match his face. But he ignored it, taking the sword into his hand again and holding it up, running his hand along the engraving.

“Well,” Johann said, with a chuckle, “What do you say to accepting this particular one?”

Viggo set down the sword and looked at the trader with a small smirk. “Well, unless you plan to use it to kill me, I’d say it’s quite safe. So yes, I will, though if you don’t mind I’ll take a moment or two to question your motives.”

Johann shrugged. “I’m not a _barbarian_ , Master Grimborn. I am a trader, a businessman, much like yourself. And one to another, I know when one’s lost it all.” He gave Viggo a pitying look, who stared back in silence. “Surely you can respect that?”

Viggo looked down at the sword and his reflection stared back, one half of his face as normal, and the other twisted and gnarled, the eye a blank milky white. “Yes, Johann,” Viggo said softly. “I can.”

 


	2. Acrimony: Short 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krogan decides to leave Viggo behind when he leaves to capture the last piece of their plan, and Viggo is left wondering just how important he actually is in the grand scheme of things.  
> It might not be as important as he hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular short takes place a few hours before Season 5 Episode 13: Sins of the Past.

 

“You should stay.”

Viggo glowered darkly at Krogan. The taller man remained unflinching as the former Dragon Hunter chieftain stalked up to him, a hand on his sword handle, his fingers lightly grazing over the cold metal, absentmindedly wondering to himself if the blade was brittle from the chilly air. “I’m not some pet told to come and go, Krogan,” Viggo spat, folding his arms over his chest and attempting to raise himself to eye level with Krogan, not succeeding.

“This isn’t something that concerns you,” Krogan retorted smoothly, giving Viggo a cold look that harbored much more cool acrimony than Viggo knew he wanted to let on. “This is the final stage in our plan. Your presence would only hinder us.”

Krogan’s calm smile sent shivers down Viggo’s spine. There was such a mess of malevolence behind those dark eyes, painfully obvious and yet so cleverly hidden by shadows. It was the look of someone who had no good intentions, no honor about them, no other goal than the destruction of others.

That was why Viggo stepped back. He nodded, slowly, as if in agreement. “Fine.”

He didn’t miss the glimmer in those dark eyes, the touch of satisfaction that danced through them for a fleeting second. But then he was back to normal. What did Krogan not want him to see? Viggo knew exactly what was going to happen. Krogan could hide as many plans from him as he wanted, but Viggo got into everything.

They wanted Heather’s Dragon Eye lense. Of course, that had always been the ultimate goal...at least to Krogan. But keeping them in ignorance for as long as possible had been the key- at last was the time to reveal to them the thing they had so sorely missed. Krogan was clearly relishing it, but why he was keeping Viggo from any contact with the mission remained a mystery.

“You _can_ keep an eye on the encampment, I trust?” Krogan asked, pausing to inspect one of the catapults a short, nervous-looking Hunter was administering repairs to. He saw Viggo and flinched, ducking out of sight behind the machine. Viggo ignored the small sinking feeling in his chest that followed, instead looking back to Krogan.

“You forget I was once in charge of this entire tribe,” Viggo murmured. The very same tribe that feared him. Now when he walked into a room, he wasn’t respected or even acknowledged purposefully. Now it was fear, just Krogan’s corrupted men, trying to avoid eye contact with the man who had once led them. But even that had died, along with so many things, that fateful day on Dragon’s Edge.

Krogan chuckled, and Viggo realized it was just as forced as his reply had been. This banter was meaningless, and both of them knew it. The moment the Dragon Eye was working smoothly again, it would be kill or be killed. Viggo knew it was only a matter of time before the fragile alliance between them splintered apart.

Viggo was so _tired_ of things breaking.

Alliances, objects, people. Things just _broke_. They splintered apart in his hands and he could do absolutely nothing about it. Trust? Gone. Loyalty? Dead. Any bond between two brothers? Pieced beyond repair.

Things just seemed destined for destruction.

Krogan surveyed the camp one more time, turning the right side of his face to Viggo and averting his gaze, again leaving Viggo wondering how Krogan had gotten that scar over his eye. His own scar pounded with pain, reminding him of it’s presence. He had hoped it would heal, that the blistering burns and the radiating heat from it would fade with time. But they _hadn’t_. Even with minimal medical experience, Viggo knew that his scar was there to stay.

And then, of course, was the matter of his eye.

Having a blind side had taken a great adaption. He was so used to seeing from all angles, surveying everything in a short amount of time and then arranging them in his mind. But now it took longer- a painstaking sweep over everything. Krogan could’ve stabbed him with that knife Viggo knew he was carrying under his cloak right this very moment and he would’ve missed it.

But he didn’t.

Viggo wanted to know what he was waiting for.

He didn’t have much time to think about it, for Krogan took one glance at the sky and looked back to Viggo. “Time for me to depart,” he said, quite calmly. “ _Try_ not to do anything _too_ drastic while I’m gone, hmm?”

Viggo did not reply. He simply stayed still, watching Krogan turn to leave, heading down to where the Singetails were kept. He disappeared for a few moments, underneath the rise, most likely gathering the Flyers for their newest assault; the one Viggo got to stay behind on. He stayed rooted to that spot, before he saw Krogan and several of the Flyers take to the air and vanish into the clouds. They disappeared quickly, as the fog had been heavy over the sea that day. It would be good cover for them.

His eyes followed the skyline for a few more moments, taking in the melancholy, blank scene before him. Drawing another breath, he slowly retraced the steps he had taken from the tent. A few Hunters cast wary glances at him as he passed, but he didn’t so much as even look back. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of turning away when he looked their direction. 

He just kept his head down and kept walking.

It was almost a relief when he shoved himself through the tent flaps and found himself in the dimness of the tent again. As opposed to the lantern that had once lit the entire room, only one candle was burning, the wick half dead, wax dripping from it. With a sigh, Viggo looked around the room and spotted the fallen lantern.

He picked it up and set it on the table, which had recently been set upright after being overturned. He opened the lantern and lit it with the dying candle, watching the glow slowly spread and shine through the glass. For some reason, lighting it brought him some sort of odd satisfaction, briefly taking his mind back to this same spot, months ago.

The night Ryker turned.

His mind’s eye replayed the incident; it had seemed so ironic at the time, as the game Viggo had played for so long decided to play _him_. Why Ryker hadn’t finished him off then and there, Viggo would never know. But he _did_ acutely remember crawling back into the dark, waiting for someone to come. And someone _had_.

That set into motion events that were even _more_ painful to remember.

Shoving away the bubbling memories that had started to resurface in his mind, Viggo looked towards the Maces and Talons board. Untouched. The traitor piece was missing, and the Marauder Chief lay broken at the foot of the table. It seemed irony was laughing at him now, mocking him as he stared at the board in silence.

Acrimony was such a strong emotion.


	3. Regrets and Requests: Short 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping the Edge volcano and spending a few months healing from his wounds, Viggo finds himself reflecting (guiltily?) on life in a place he only barely remembers. He definitely wasn't expecting an unwelcome visitor to drop by and change everything...again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short works off of the idea that Viggo was alone throughout most of the time span between Shell Shocked Part 2 and Return of Thor Bonecrusher, and that a great deal of it was spent on the Dragon Hunter base (now abandoned). The Hunters have vanished, under the control of Krogan a ways away, which Viggo does not know.  
> Pardon my mistakes or just the general out-there-ness of this one...I'm super tired right now lol

Viggo hadn’t spent much time in taverns before this.

They were unhygienic and filled with distasteful sorts, but at least they were good places to find information, or people with information. But he didn’t spend time there _willingly_ ; or at least he hadn’t in many years. They were where men went to hide from and drink away their problems.

How _ironic_.

This particular tavern wasn’t different than any other loud, obnoxious tavern west, north, south, or east of the Northern Markets. They were all shockingly similar, yet this one held much more significance to the former chief of the Hunters than any other.

But the ghosts of the past weren’t visible underneath all the grime. Men sat around a log fire, singing drunken songs as a man played a stringed instrument, the chords sounding a bit off but still passable as a very old sailing song. Lanterns spread a sad orange glow throughout the rickety wooden building, the roof slanted, and a tired-looking bartender stood behind a dusty counter, flipping a rusty bottle cap.

Viggo guessed it was around midday outside, though it was hard to tell in the tavern. A glimmer of light shone through the cracks in the wooden plank walls, indicating possibly noon or slightly past. He hadn’t kept track of the time. He didn’t want to. However long he had sat in here, dwelling on his regret, wasn’t important.

Viggo was sitting at a lone table in one of the far corners of the tavern, his head down, his face shrouded in darkness. He was halfheartedly listening to the song being played, which had droned on for a while now and lost much of its beat. He was quite sure the instrument player had fallen asleep.

This place brought so many memories to the forefront of his mind; and though not all of them were welcome, they persisted. Some of them went so far back they were almost like fog, distant shards of memory that were present for a fleeting moment before vanishing like mist. Some of them, however, he was more inclined to think upon.

Viggo blearily remembered two carefree young teenagers, brothers, who often came here to get away from their home island. They’d order drinks, talk, maybe even end up singing with the same group of bards that always clustered around the fire. Even though they’d usually have to run out the back door together when a fight broke out, it was still relaxing.

Viggo traced his fingers along the rough, old wood of the table, following the grain of the wood and brushing over a niche in the surface. Likely someone had thrown a knife there, maybe even himself, many years ago. Perhaps someone had thrown it trying to hit someone, but had fallen short, causing the whole room to erupt in guffaws of laughter. It was hard not to wonder.

Ryker had probably sat in this same place before, maybe with more chairs pulled up so he could arm wrestle as many travelers who wanted to challenge him, as his younger brother drifted around and kept scores while casually “examining” some of the shadier personas nearby. The thought almost brought a smile to Viggo’s lips, but when he tried, the familiar pounding pain of his somewhat-fresh scar stopped him short.

He envisioned again a young teenager with dark hair poking fun at a brute-like ape of a guard as his older brother skulked menacingly nearby, stopping the guard from doing anything of damage. Except that teenager had two sides to his face and a cheerful grin, and looked as if he had actually gotten sleep the night before. No haunting ghosts weighed down his shoulders, no marring disfigurement reflected torture to those who looked at him.

The figure in his mind’s eye was so real that Viggo had to clench his eyes shut to try and wish it away. That was before this had happened. Before he had become a chief. Before he had started a war. Before-

Before he had killed his brother.

Of course, it hadn’t been him directly. It had been an unpreventable and very unfortunate accident of which he had been incapable of stopping. Yet somehow the twisting, choking, soul-sucking feeling of guilt still wormed its way into his heart, convincing him of something that may not have actually been true.

Perhaps that was why he was here. Remembering things he usually wouldn't have cared to remember. Thinking about things that were inconsequential to anything other than pure nostalgia in its untampered form.

Maybe it’s because he _was_ guilty.

The said unpreventable and very unfortunate accident had worked quite well in his favor, after all. He was alive (barely) and his plan had worked (not really). Of course, he had his moments that he wished he had died in that volcano, but perhaps that was just a disdainful side effect of losing half of one’s face and losing everything else with it. After all, actions had consequences.

Viggo had once thought he was the master at dealing with the consequences. He could juggle them around, maneuver through and past them, manipulate them into something he wanted. It was almost shameful that he regretted the death of his brother. It had been for the greater good. He had gone _mad_.

But no matter how many times his mind told him that, the lingering feeling of total absorption in guilt still remained, like a sword that had dug in deep and refused to let go. And he wasn’t sure if he dared try and remove it.

Viggo sighed deeply and stared down at the table, wishing that his brain would stop its unhelpful internal monologue for once. Coming to this tavern had been, after all, his own choice. But he didn’t know where else to go; the Dragon Hunter base had been empty for all but himself, and all the other minor outposts were packed up and abandoned. It had been so lonely recently...so lonely that the desperate need for social interaction had become strong.

So Viggo had come here.

He hadn’t wanted to, exactly. For the memories of his childhood was exactly what he was trying to avoid. But his mind had convinced him it was a good idea, and with a million different excuses to suffice, too. So, in the end, Viggo had paid a fisherman in one of the southeastern mainlands to give him a ride up here.

And now he was here. And he had no idea what to do.

His tribe had mysteriously vanished, along with Krogan. Viggo supposed that was what happens when one “dies” and then goes missing for a few months; everybody vanishes. It had been almost nice at first, not having to deal with Krogan’s shenanigans seconds after falling into a volcano. But now it just felt...strangely lonely.

Perhaps, he considered resignedly, he’d go find Krogan and discover what had happened to the rest of his tribe. After all, one can only hide from their problems for so long. Eventually, he’d find out the hard way; and he wasn’t sure he wanted that information just yet.

Unfortunately, fate was cruel.

He had been absently listening to the murmuring tune of the tavern, having died down as the day waned into evening, but still persistent. But suddenly, everything was dead silent, as if all voices had simultaneously died. Viggo suddenly became alert, whipping his head up and scanning the tavern with his one good eye to see what the source of it was.

When he did, his heart dropped so fast it might have fallen through his feet.

A tall, menacing, and shockingly familiar figure had just entered, stalking through the doorway and killing the mood almost instantly. Men seemed to shrink as the familiar form of Krogan leered above them, stalking in with his head down and shrouded by a black hood, clipped with the shining silver symbol of Drago Bludvist.

Viggo did his best to make himself look smaller. He narrowed his shoulders, ducked his head, absorbed himself in the darkness of his lonely corner, but it was to no avail. Krogan spotted him almost instantly, and Viggo watched as Drago’s lieutenant stalked over to him.

He stiffened, opening his shoulders and no longer shying away from Krogan’s malevolent approach. If the war chief was going to do this, Viggo wanted him to know exactly how displeased he was to see him.

Krogan gave him a look, almost a smile, his eerie eyes glittering in the light. He pulled up a chair and gave Viggo a long, hard look. Never before had Viggo been so thankful for the shadows, hiding his face. But he let his gaze burn through at Krogan nonetheless, who looked at ease.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Krogan said, calmly. “And harder to kill, apparently.”

Viggo gritted his teeth and amplified the ice daggers he was shooting at Krogan almost infinitely. “What do you want from me?” he hissed, his voice gravelly and rough. Hearing it spoken aloud for the first time in several days was odd, and uncomfortable.

Krogan gave him smile worthy of a devil. “That’s the wrong question. The real question is, what can we do for each other? Allow me to fill you in on what’s transpiring as we speak. Hm?”

Viggo paused for a moment, before giving a long-suffering sigh of resignation. “That was rhetorical, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, I was going to tell you anyway.” Viggo instantly hated that glimmer in Krogan’s eyes. It was predatory, shark-like.

So, Viggo decided upon the best option available. He sat back in his chair, pushing away from the table and letting the window behind him shine through, falling upon his face and lighting up his scar for Krogan to see, almost as a jeer. “Well, then, go on. Though, take your time. I’m here all night.”

Krogan’s mildly horrified stare was almost worth it.


	4. Down With The Ship: Short 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup didn't think that Viggo watched his brother go down with the ship. He also didn't think he cared about it.  
> Oh, how far that was from the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular short takes place during Shell Shocked Part 2, right after Hiccup drops Viggo off on the beach and leaves to pursue the battle with the Shellfire. There may be some minor canon divergence when it comes to timeframe and the actual battle of the Shellfire and Submaripper, but I was lazy as heck and decided not to rewatch the episode to make sure I was on it.  
> Also, this short works off my own personal theory/headcanon that Viggo and Ryker used to be very close as siblings, before Viggo being selected as the new chief of the Hunters instead of Ryker broke them apart. The previous short alludes to this as well.  
> At this point I should just write a fic on their childhood...

And then Hiccup was gone.

Viggo was about to turn around, to get away from the beach as quickly as possible, but something made him stop. A wafting breeze blew by him, as waves crashed on the rocks below and smoke rose from the impending battle.

Viggo paused, hands behind his back, almost as if he were considering something. As if Hiccup had proposed a deal and he were pondering over whether to accept or decline. His brows furrowed, slightly surprised at the fact he was even considering it. But...the way Hiccup had looked at him was still nagging at his thoughts. It was a look full of distrust, but concern. As if the only person who could truly help him, he knew he couldn’t trust.

He had been practically  _ pleading _ with Viggo to take his offer. The boy had done it before. He wanted to do it again. He  _ could _ do it again.

It was foolhardy. Brave, but foolhardy.

Viggo let out a small chuckle, eyes fixated on the rapidly vanishing black dot of a young Viking and dragon, the ghost of a smile touching his lips _. Hiccup Haddock, I decline your offer. _

His mind’s eye showed him the crestfallen face of failure.

_ Some other day, perhaps. Some other day. _

In some other universe, some other timeline, would he dare accept that proposition; that lingering compromise Hiccup had set before him, without conscious thought of doing so. The possibility to accept existed, of course. But something would have to go terribly wrong to push him that far into desperation. He wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t  _ desperate _ yet.

And besides, Hiccup was about to take care of the immediate problem.

Something in him twinged.  _ The immediate problem.  _ Was he really so far gone? Did he really want to stand on this beach and laugh about his success? Simply having the thought made his soul wither. 

He couldn’t stand there for one more second. He turned and left. Dry grass crunched under his boots, and he picked up his pace, feeling a slight chill down his spine. At this very moment, the Submaripper and Shellfire would be engaged in a death battle only one would survive. And Viggo knew who the winner was. 

He wished he didn’t.

The roars of the ocean and the battle on it gradually grew louder. Viggo broke into a flat-out sprint, not fully focusing on where he was going. Time was short anyway, but he was going to watch Ryker go down, whether Hiccup was aware of it or not. 

He spotted an outcropping overlooking the sea. Slowing slightly, but keeping up his brisk pace, Viggo stepped onto the stone ledge and stared out to sea. The ocean was a dark, stormy blue, and thunderous gray clouds hung low over the grim scene. Dragons soaring, lightning flashing, two monstrous sea dragons battling, one with a large warship strapped to it…

Viggo watched, dead silent. After all, there was nothing to say. Just the bleak, sinister certainty of death. Death of Viggo’s men, and his brother. So, so much death today. And it wasn’t over. It was far from over.

The two dragons stalked around each other, and though Viggo couldn’t clearly make out what the battle entailed, it was clearly coming to a stop. Ships smoked, dragons and their riders flew over the battlefield, and the Submaripper was circling around the distraught Shellfire, ready to leap forward for an attack...the  _ last  _ attack.

Viggo watched as the massive green dragon leaped up out of the water, tackling the rearing Shellfire. Chains snapped, dragons roared, the faint sounds of Hunters screaming could be heard. And the massive war machine, strapped to the Shellfire...toppled off the back of the dragon and into the crushing depths of the sea below. A giant whirlpool had arisen, and as the Shellfire fled, the only thing that could be happening to the machine was total destruction under the water.

No one resurfaced.

Viggo’s hands started to shake. He should have felt relieved, even glad! His brother, his mutinous, traitorous, scum-of-the-earth brother, was finally dead. His plan was simply  _ falling  _ into place. He may as well have had it laid out before him at his feet. At last, he had drawn a favorable hand in this dangerous game.

But...something began to break him apart. As the Riders scattered and began to regroup, awareness of what had just happened dawned on him, rather akin to one being hit over the head with a club.

As Viggo stared blankly after the disappearing shadow of the Shellfire, it hit him. It was a sudden, painful realization, like a blow to the chest, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

Ryker was dead.

_ And Viggo had killed him. _

His breathing turned rapid and shallow. His hands clenched, and then slowly unfurled, not even finding the strength to ball his fists. His knees trembled, and then gave, as he slowly sank down, meeting the cold, unforgiving stone. The sky thundered, and then began to gently pour rain down from the heavens.

“I’m sorry,” Viggo whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Viggo didn’t care anymore that Ryker had seemingly lost all sense of reason. He didn’t care that his own brother had nearly killed him and then left him to die, taking away almost all his tribe. All that Viggo could think about in that moment was the days before all this had happened. When the two had been  _ brothers _ , not rivals. When they didn’t spend hours fighting over leadership of a tribe, or even longer worrying about plans for said tribe. 

Ryker, boasting about his strength to visiting foreigners before Viggo pulled him out of trouble at the last second.

Viggo snooping around the tribe library back home and Ryker catching him and teasing him mercilessly, calling him “bookworm”.

The two playing Maces and Talons together, and Ryker getting angry and flipping the board while Viggo laughed.

All of it, gone, right when Viggo had been given the right to rule the tribe of the Dragon Hunters when their father died.

Now Viggo was the only one left. No father, no mother, and as if to pour salt on the wound, not even his own brother was left. The two hadn’t gotten along since the whole ordeal, but suddenly the enormity of what had just happened came crashing down on the chieftain like a ten ton boulder. Ryker was dead.  _ Dead.  _ And Viggo was certain that Ryker blamed him for everything right up until his very last breath.

As pathetically sad as it was, it was so very  _ Ryker _ .

Viggo stared out at the empty ocean. He was running out of time, fast. The death of Ryker had turned over his hourglass, and he now had to complete his plan. He could almost imagine Ryker from whatever afterlife he ended up in, saying something like, “Oh, of course, take your precious plan over me. I would expect nothing less from you, little brother.”

But he could only say sorry once. And a dead man couldn’t hear apologies.

Viggo staggered to his feet, rather in a daze. He had to get out of here, he had to forget about this. Ryker was dead, gone for good, the last error that his mutiny had caused now eradicated. 

He let out a hoarse chuckle at his own thoughts.  _ Eradicated _ . What a terrible word to use, considering he had just murdered his own brother.

But, that was how things were when it came to war.

Viggo cast one last look at the ocean, the waves settling as the two dragons vanished in opposite directions. Dragon’s Edge had gained yet another permanent wreck, and more bodies than the home of some teenage Vikings should ever have.

“I really  _ am _ sorry, Ryker,” Viggo whispered aloud, before turning his back on the sea and walking off into the forest.

And it wasn’t a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i know it was bad i'm sorry


	5. Snow Laughing Matter: Short 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only Krogan would have Viggo stand next to the one thing haunting him ever since the "incident".  
> And only Viggo would ditch that post to go sit in some snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god this one actually has no purpose, and I think it's the first NOT angsty one in this entire series that I find myself unable to stop writing.  
> Which is good. Because. I'm planning something...new for the upcoming two chapters. It seems people here enjoy this at least a little, so I decided to try to put some effort into it!!
> 
> On that note...I can't thank you guys enough. To my friends, to the people I don't know, to the random viewers. Thank you ALL. I have this...warm fuzzy feeling every time there are more kudos, more hits. So like. Thank you guys! <3

Viggo didn’t want to be here. 

But then again, he had already made that clear enough.

He was standing on a platform next to the Dragon’s Edge volcano. The last time he had been here...it had been about five or so months ago, and it was very far from a pleasant memory. In fact, merely thinking about it made his insides clench and a familiar burning sensation akin to phantom pain creep across his face.

Viggo was careful to keep his back on the volcano. Instead, he busied himself with the winch-like device that held up the inverted diving bell, a remarkable creation made by Hiccup Haddock himself. And now it was serving its purpose, by lowering Hunters down into the volcano’s belly to search for the Dragon Eye. 

They were sending men down there, only a few at a time, and they were attempting to move away lava and break hardened magma, but it was very slow going, and he was fairly sure they had piled up some bodies by now. (He got slightly sick thinking about that. No one deserved his fate.) Viggo realized that, inevitably, he would have to go down as well. He usually didn’t trust others to do his job for him...even though it wasn’t, really. But if he didn’t go down there, did that make him any better than Krogan? Krogan, who would just as soon kill an entire tribe so they could do his dirty work for him?

The thought made his fists clench. Every day that passed, the Hunters grew more afraid of Krogan, dreading what Drago’s lieutenant might do to them. At least under Viggo’s leadership, they had a sense of security, however small. And it was the tiny things of the Hunters, the things they whispered under their breath or the looks they gave Krogan when he was facing the opposite direction, that gave Viggo hope.

Hope that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , Krogan didn’t have full sway over them all.

The air smelled of sulfur and was filled with the sounds of metal grinding on metal. His face was bathed in heat, and the whole area was a stark contrast to the snow-covered peak about a five minute’s trek away. It was rather like standing on the edge of fire and ice, one side burning and bubbling, the other cool and still.

To Viggo, it was like standing between life and death.

He still remembered climbing out of that volcano and diving into the snow. The relieving pain that followed. It took the heat out of the burn, and as much as it hurt, it had drained the heat from his face and got his lungs working again; no longer inhaling the noxious fumes of the volcano and instead the crisp, mountain air.

The smell of the mountain was intermingling with the ash that had recently been making his lungs hurt. He wanted to get away from the volcano, as far away as possible. But, after all, he had his orders. (Viggo scoffed at orders.) He was to stay and keep a careful eye on the progress of retrieving the Dragon Eye, while Krogan did...whatever Krogan did when he wasn’t bothering Viggo about something.

Viggo sighed and half closed his eyes, trying to distract his brain from the prospect of having to go into that hellhole eventually and instead envisioned bashing Krogan’s skull in. What an idiot he had been, to accept help from Drago Bludvist. Perhaps Ryker had really been right all along, and that Krogan would just interfere. Oh, if only he knew.

In a moment of weakness, Viggo envisioned his brother’s satisfied smirk, his voice snarking haughtily an “I told you so”.

No, no, that wasn’t helping. Not at all.

Luckily, he was spared the train of thought that would follow if he continued down that dark mental path. A Hunter trotted up to him, glancing around like he was afraid he might be followed or caught doing something he shouldn’t. Viggo almost wanted to laugh. Perhaps Krogan had made contact with him punishable. (Viggo wouldn’t have put it past him.)

Viggo gave the Hunter a one-eyed look, trying to make it as calm as possible, but even then the Hunter didn’t look him directly in the eye. “I-I’m here from Krogan for a report on how things are going.” His voice was shaky, unsure, and he kept looking at Viggo like he might backhand him, or he might start yelling.

Ah, so he wasn’t here against Krogan’s will. Figures. He doubted any of his men had the courage to go against an order. He now mildly regretted the “respect your leader” command he had ingrained in his tribe’s brains early on. 

“I see,” Viggo murmured, and he purposefully kept his voice quiet and calm. The poor man didn’t need to be any more skittish than he already was. “You may tell Krogan we have been making slow but steady progress.” Perfect lie. The Hunters weren’t really doing a great job at staying alive in the volcano’s core. And even if they did live, the Dragon Eye was still out of sight, or buried. “He need not worry.” 

The Hunter let out a trembling sigh. “Oh! That’s- I mean, good to hear... _ sir _ .” He tagged on the “sir” at the end almost as if he were afraid to do so. Krogan was so amusing sometimes when it came to positions of power. 

Viggo nodded absentmindedly, looking back to the winch. It was a lovely day outside, the sky was the purest blue and untainted with the smoke of burning ships and a Shellfire that it had been the last time he had been on the Rider’s base. The man lingered for a few more moments, and Viggo sighed, suddenly remembering protocol. “You’re dismissed.”

As the Hunter scampered off, Viggo eyed the volcano again, this time daring to look over the edge. The lava bubbled far below, and Viggo ignored the way it made his head spin and heart pound. He  _ needed  _ to get away from here. He had Hunters working on the diving bell, lowering it and raising it, and  _ in _ it, naturally. Nobody would notice if he left just for a little while.

But where to? He had no desire to go down to the Rider’s “village”. The coasts were all terribly boring and also guarded; he was not in the mood for more of his people acting like he was some eldritch creature from Helheim.

The sweet scent of the mountain snow mixed with hot sulfur again tempted him. The idea of getting away from the volcano and instead going up into the cold, sharp air, was more alluring than he had realized it would be. Viggo checked around, to make sure he was the only one watching. And then, in a seamless movement, he pirouetted off the wooden platform and onto the gravel, before turning and following the mountain path, his back now to the volcano.

The heat faded the higher he went, until it vanished completely. The path winded up along the mountain, made possibly by small dragons traveling up to escape something. Lava? Quite possibly. There were still marks of it’s scourge on the land. Those little dragons- Night Terrors Hiccup had called them, if he remembered right- had been rather like nuisances to the invading Hunters. 

Though, admittedly, it had been quite funny to watch Krogan chase them off and vent his annoyance with a variety of swears when they refused to leave. Viggo was partially thankful none had been killed yet in his efforts; they never bothered  _ him _ , just provided entertainment and something to snicker at when life seemed at it’s worse.

The gravel and rocks turned to snow in a matter of moments. There was no wind, which made the temperature almost perfect. Coats weren’t required; the sun provided substantial warmth and yet the altitude kept the snow cool. The air was fresher, the sickly smell of metal and sulfur gone. Suddenly, breathing came easier.

Not once had Viggo thought he would enjoy the cold  _ this _ much. But here he was, taking it in like it was the last time he’d breathe real air. 

He turned, the snow now knee deep but avoidable thanks to the path. He looked out on Dragon’s Edge. A steep decline, then the bay, then the open ocean and sea stacks. Behind him was the top of the peak, now quite obviously a volcano, as the top was blasted open and ash was scattered near the mouth of it. But before that was a perfect slope of snow, untouched. 

Somehow it looked tempting.

_ That’s childish,  _ he scolded himself, but he kept his eyes fixated on the carpet of snow, looking rather like a cloud that had come to earth. By some stroke of comical timing, his scar started to burn, as it periodically did when he thought too hard about its existence. The lack of eye had begun to bother him less, but the scar still hurt sometimes as if it were on fire again.

_ Oh, just do it. _

Viggo bid farewell to his dignity, and flopped over into the snow.

It was cold, of course, and anyone else would have sat up as quickly as they could, but Viggo just sank deeper into the powder and let out a sigh as he started up at the crystal clear sky above him. He was fairly sure this was actually the first time he had not been standing in at least six hours or more. Suddenly, he realized how tired he was.

The snow was such a soothing change to the burning fury of the volcano, and coolness radiated off of it, soaking into his skin. In a brief moment of distraction, Viggo wondered momentarily what Krogan would think if he came across Viggo lying here, in the snow, almost asleep. 

The thought was so funny that Viggo chuckled, which was unusual in and of itself, but the uplifting feeling he felt in his soul was even stranger. His chest vibrated and snow fell from above his head onto his face. He shook his head, trying to get it off, but ended up just knocking more snow down. 

Sighing in defeat, he let the snow melt into cool droplets of water that rolled down his face. 

Suddenly, to his surprise, the burning sensation of his scar had started to pass. Even it’s constant throb was lessened a great deal. He found he could breathe at last, and for once he wasn’t haunted by burns or a headache. He felt better than he had in a long, long time.

Viggo slowly sat up, violently shaking the snow out of his hair. He got to his feet, shaking his whole body this time, and looked to where he had laid down. For some reason, he had to laugh at the imprint he had made in the snow.

And, hoarse and rough as it was, it was a real laugh.


	6. It's Mutual (Hatred): Short 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the plan to locate the King of Dragons progresses, Krogan (finally) figures out his "ally" doesn't exactly harbor good feelings toward him.  
> Well, it could be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm (kind of) alive. Life became overwhelming and I ended up having to scrap my two-parter, considering we have the newest season of Race to the Edge in a week now! This series will likely stop, or at least halt for a good long while, as the craziness passes. But depending on what happens to our favorite Viggo Grimborn at the end of RTTE, I may come back with a brand new series, totally different, seeing as how my friends, and random strangers, too, seemed to really like these shenanigans. Lemme tell you, it's been a blast writing on my favorite villain ever, and I really hope I won't be stopping anytime soon.   
> But for now, here's a tiny lil' short based on a hilarious writing prompt one of my best friends sent me, and let's all pray Season 6 is good to us.

Krogan sometimes honest-to-Thor didn’t really know what to make of Viggo Grimborn.

Sometimes, the man was very flat and simple. Blunt, to the point, and viciously intelligent. He hadn’t really acted sour towards Krogan before the... _ incident _ , but now, it was like unlocking a whole new side to Viggo. One that the warlord would never have really thought possible. As far as he had previously been concerned, Viggo was the quiet and deadly little brother of Ryker. 

As it turned out, he was- put quite simply- a being of pure sarcasm.

But he was also dangerous.

Krogan faintly remembered when he had brought Viggo back to the Hunter base after finding him in the tavern on the outskirts of the Northern Markets. Viggo had warily followed him off the boat, and of course, the first thing he had seen was the arena Krogan had built, and Drago’s flags flying all across the camp. 

Viggo had given him a look so full of ice daggers he was quite sure it made the Hunter behind him pass out from shock.

That was only his first taste of it. The moment he entered the main tent, the one that Krogan assumed had belonged to him previously, he instantly began tidying up. He hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t so much as looked over at Krogan. He set up overturned lanterns, put tables back in their places, and put back together a Maces and Talons board.

He then heated up a cup of water with a Terrible Terror, added something to it, and had vanished for the rest of the day.

It had been an interesting start to their partnership.

Krogan walked through the camp, the sun just barely beginning to set over the jagged walls. He had an outline of the plan revolving around the Outcasts tucked under one arm, and the other twirling around the handle of his sword. He learned quickly axes were just cumbersome to carry around all the time.

He could only naturally assume Viggo was in the main tent; that’s where he usually was, at any rate. Drawing out outlines or maps, drinking water or something he referred to as “tea” (with Drago, you either drank straight mead or you drank salt water), and sometimes playing Maces and Talons against himself. To be quite fair, Krogan didn’t really care what he did on a daily basis.

Krogan stepped inside, sweeping the partition aside. He saw Viggo instantly; or rather, his silhouette, which cast a large shadow on the tent wall behind him. Viggo’s face was shadowed and the left side was turned away, as it usually was when Krogan walked in. Whether it was to keep his good eye on whoever had entered, or for dramatic effect, Krogan was never entirely sure.

“Worked out a solution yet?” Viggo asked calmly, not looking up from his map. 

“Yes.” Krogan slapped down the outline and nudged it over to Viggo, who watched it roll towards him but made no move to reach for it. “Your Ice Tail Pike are located around Outcast Island. I’m already arranging to send Hunters to overpower Alvin.”

“Lovely.” Somehow, he sounded both unimpressed and deadpan serious all at once. After a pause, he spoke again. “Trust me, Krogan, the fish are necessary.” He said it almost as if he could see the skeptical look Krogan was giving him, even when not looking directly towards him. Perhaps some advantages came with being half-blind, after all.

“I know they are,” Krogan snapped. “Drago isn’t as uneducated as you think he is.”

Viggo shrugged, as if he didn’t particularly have the energy to care. “Inconsequential. Now, come. You’ve been on your feet all day. Have a cup of tea.”

That was...odd.

So Krogan examined the charts Viggo had been going over and went over his outline again as Viggo made what Krogan could only assume was a cup of tea. To Krogan’s brief interest, Viggo had scratched something into the margins: something that vaguely resembled a sword, but with flames dancing along the blade…odd. But boring. He quickly went back to the map.

Finally, after Viggo handed Krogan a cup (that he didn’t touch; Krogan would never have put poison past the younger Grimborn), he unrolled the outline and examined it. 

He seemed to skim over the majority of it, before looking up at Krogan again. “It’ll have to do,” Viggo mused to himself, not looking very impressed.

Krogan scoffed. “You really don’t like me, do you, Viggo?” He said it almost as a rhetorical question; as if the answer was a given. 

Viggo looked up and blinked, as if the half-serious question surprised him. “Krogan,” he said slowly, but very calmly, with a tone that seemed to think as if the answer should be blatantly obvious, “If you were on fire and I had water, I’d drink it.”

Somehow the response didn’t surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as the French say, au revior!  
> Maybe.  
> I'll return to this hellhole eventually, HTTYD fandom. I will.


End file.
